


Roots of Evil

by Brate



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Background Case, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon ought to know better than to send Jim out alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots of Evil

"What do you mean you sent Jim out alone?" Blair stood in front of the police captain's desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"I happen to be the boss here, Sandburg, in case that slipped your mind."

Realizing he might've been a bit forceful, Blair took a figurative step back. "No, of course not, Simon, but I told Jim that it wasn't a good idea to do this on his own. He already zoned out twice at the crime scene."

"Which is why I didn't send him to the crime scene," Banks drawled.

That brought Blair up short. "Huh? Well, where'd he go, then?"

"He went to talk to the witness. He thought she knew more than she'd let on."

"Oh." Blair ducked his head in embarrassment. "That should be okay."

Banks waved a hand in supplication. "Thank you so much for your agreement. Now, if it pleases your lordship, do I have permission to return to my job?"

"All right, okay, I get it." Blair shuffled his feet. "I just get worried, okay?"

"I know you do, Sandburg, which is the only reason I haven't tossed you out the window." Simon smiled to soften his words. "Jim's a big boy; he'll be fine." 

"Yeah," Blair agreed, but he wasn't so sure. He headed out of Simon's office into the bullpen and sat at Jim's desk. The rest of the detectives of Major Crime were busy, no one having time to even glance around the room. Blair opened the folder of the case they— _Jim_ —was working on and scanned through it. He felt antsy and wasn't sure why. Maybe if he studied the evidence, something would jump out at him.

Margaret Howe, an eighty-eight-year-old woman, had been strangled in her home two days earlier. Currently, there were no leads, and it was driving Jim crazy. It was unusual for Major Crime to take on a case so mundane, but Margaret had been the grandmother of the ADA, Dennis Howe. As a personal favor, Simon had assigned Ellison to the case.

The sentinel had picked up _something_ at her house, but zoned when he tried to tune his senses fully toward it. Blair had been helping him with some exercises, and hoped to return with him this afternoon to nail it down. Jim must've gone to talk to her next door neighbor, Amanda Thomas. Miss Thomas had heard a crash and gone next door to check on Margaret. When the older woman hadn't answered the door, Miss Thomas had called emergency services. They had broken down the door to find poor Mrs. Howe laid out in her living room, scarf twisted around her neck.

There was no reason for anyone to want her dead. Apparently, she'd been a sweet woman, a church-goer, always willing to help out where she could. And it wasn't as though she had a substantial amount of money to steal. It didn't make sense, and Jim hated when things didn't make sense.

Blair didn't like puzzles, either. He'd never forget the sight of that poor woman spread out across her rug, arm out as if begging for help. He shook his head to clear it, but still felt on edge. Like there was something else he should be doing. Blair stood and went to get coffee in the break room. He walked down the hall, pausing in the doorway, unable to go in. He stepped back and eyed the elevator at the end of the corridor. 

"Somewhere you gotta be, Blair?" Rafe asked, trying to get around Blair. 

"Yeah," Blair said, shoving his cup at the detective, "I think there is."

Ignoring Rafe's sputtered shout, Blair ran toward the elevator and pushed the Down arrow. Tapping his foot anxiously, he waited two seconds, before breaking off and taking the stairs. If someone had asked, Blair wouldn't be able to say why he was in such a hurry but there was a definite countdown clock ticking in his head, and he was terrified to find out what happened if it reached zero.

Blair slammed through the metal door on the garage level, and sprinted to his car. Once on the street, he followed his instincts and found himself heading to Margaret Howe's neighborhood. As soon as he realized where he was going, he pushed his car faster, somehow knowing he had little time. 

He swung his car in behind Jim's, parked, and exited, running toward the Howe house. Blair jerked open the front door and stumbled inside, stopping, shocked at the scene before him.

Jim was face down on the floor, Amanda Thomas astride him, pulling a rope around his neck. Growling, Blair launched himself at her, sending both of them tumbling into a coffee table. She started screaming and trying to scratch him. For once, Blair didn't try talking her down, he merely pulled back his fist and let it fly against her jaw. 

She lay silent. 

Blair crawled to Jim, gently unwound the rope from around his neck, and made sure he was still breathing. Finally taking a breath himself, Blair sat back on his heels and called 911. After securing Amanda with Jim's handcuffs, he settled next to Jim, watching over him until help arrived.

*****

Blair was sitting in the waiting room, relegated there when he'd made himself a nuisance, ordering around the doctors and nurses about Jim's treatment. He heard Simon before he saw him, demanding to know where his detective was. 

"What the hell happened, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Amanda Thomas killed Mrs. Howe, then when Jim zoned in the house, she tried to kill him, too."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea," Blair snapped, his worry shortening his temper. "That's your job. Mine is to protect Jim."

"Luckily, you did your job better than I did mine," Simon said softly. He gripped Blair's shoulder and squeezed. "Jim will be fine, Blair. You got to him in time."

"I hope so."

*****

A doctor arrived and announced Mr. Ellison was awake and ready for visitors. Blair jumped up immediately, and practically ran to the room. By the time Simon got there, Blair was already yelling at Jim. 

"What were you doing there? I told you not to go back without me!"

"Sorry, Sandburg, but a smell in Amanda's house reminded me of the crime scene." Jim's voice was low and rough from the damage to his vocal cords. "I figured now that I knew what I was looking for, I could find it."

"Yeah, great plan, man. Instead you zoned, _again_ , allowing the murderer to sneak up and try to kill you, too." Blair's voice was getting increasingly loud with his agitation. 

A nurse came to the door to shush them.

"Sorry." Blair waved and grinned at her. She rolled her eyes, but left them alone.

"Do you know why she did it?" Simon asked, hoping to give the kid a chance to calm down. 

"Um…maybe?" Jim hedged.

"What?" Simon was surprised; Ellison wasn't the type of person to vacillate. 

"Well, I think I know why she did it, but it doesn't make any sense." Jim sipped at the ice water Blair held out to him.

"Does murder ever make sense?" Blair asked.

"She said…" Jim took another sip of water. "She said Mrs. Howe was planting the wrong flowers."

The room was quiet for a long beat.

Simon broke it. "What the hell does that mean?" he barked.

Jim shrugged. "She started babbling about how her irises had complimented the roses until Mrs. Howe had them dug up and planted tulips in their place."

"What?" Simon repeated. As if hearing it again would make more sense.

"Their properties weren't fenced, so I guess they worked together to form a cohesive gardening plan. Apparently, Mrs. Howe diverged from that plan and Amanda didn't approve."

Simon grunted. "Why didn't you bring her in immediately, Jim?"

"I didn't have anything concrete. I didn't think her rambling confession would stand up in court, especially when I was the only one who heard it."

"Because you didn't bother asking me to go with you." Blair couldn't resist one last dig.

"I wasn't interviewing a suspect; she was supposedly a witness," Jim defended.

"All right, that's enough out of both of you." Simon slipped into his coat. "I'm going back to the precinct and see if I can get the craziness straightened out. You, Detective, rest and get better. I expect you back at work after the weekend. Sandburg, you take care of him." 

"Sir, yes, sir." Blair saluted, overriding Jim's squawk of complaint that he could take care of himself.

Simon walked out before he got pulled into yet another argument.

*****

Blair watched Simon leave then plopped down in the chair next to Jim's bed. "Promise me you'll never do something like that again, man. I was scared to death when I saw Amanda standing over you. I thought I was too late."

"You weren't, Chief; that's what matters. Thanks for the rescue."

Blushing, Blair ducked his head.

"How did you know?" 

Blair looked up, confused. "What?"

"How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Oh." Blair shrugged. "It was just a feeling."

"Lucky for me." Jim smiled.

"Lucky for me, too," Blair said. "If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

"Aw, Sandburg—" 

"I'd have to find a new place to live." 

Jim laughed, wincing as he brought a hand up to his sore neck. "You'll pay for that one."

Blair grinned. "Of that I have no doubt."


End file.
